Loony Tunes

Today

My sister has a tendency to give names to inanimate objects. Today she was talking about her new washing machine which is Turkish. She's named it "Rondo" after "Rondo alla Turca" by Mozart.

"Ah!" I said "round and round and round crazily, then."

In My Day

In 2003, after a stressful time getting Tricia settled into residential care, I decided that we needed a break and booked us a weekend in Prague.

Near to Christmas and very cold, it was. We were staying in a lovely hotel near the castle. In the foyer was the largest ever gingerbread house whose scent permeated through the bar and restaurant. I don't know when it was eaten; we were never offered any. Despite the bitingly cold air we had a lovely time walking the streets, watching the erection of an enormous Christmas tree in the main square and enjoying unbelievably hearty meals that consisted mainly of potato.

We also quickly discovered that Prague is a city of music. We bought tickets to see "The Marriage of Figaro" at the beautiful Estates theatre (where Dion Giovanni was first performed). It was strange to hear Italian singing and see Czech subtitles! In the streets there were any number of small folk bands singing lugubrious Slavonic songs with violin and accordion accompaniment.

On our way back to hotel we noticed bundles of flyers tied to lampposts. These turned out to be for a chamber lunchtime concert at the castle. The timing was perfect: it would fill in nicely the gap between check-out and going to the airport.

The programme didn't look too promising - a lot of classical pot-boilers and an unlikely combination of pianist, flautist and viola player. We were ushered into a room in the castle which was heavily decorated with bellicose murals and ceiling paintings.

The performers took us through a range of Baroque and Rococo classics with verve and enjoyment. The viola player was a dark and moody Slavonic man who could have emerged from a Russian novel. He glowered at us, the other players and his instrument. The flautist was a woman with a willowy top half and enormous bottom who swayed romantically through all her pieces.

The pianist was one of the shortest women I'd seen in a long time. She was dumpy and middle-aged and was very frumpily dressed. This was apart from her shoes which were platform soled extravaganzas that would challenge Naomi Campbell.

The finale was Mozart's "Rondo all Turca". The tiny pianist climbed up onto the piano stool and gave it her all.  Her eyes gleamed at the audience in a mad fashion and she was off! I wouldn't be surprised if she set a new record for how quickly she got through it. At least a 1600rpm spin speed. The concert could have been so dull; instead it was joyous and full of emotional vigour. And how we cheered at the end of the Mozart and clapped the little, now sweating, pianist for her crazed interpretation and for lightening a dull November afternoon.

I wonder if Beatrice's Rondo will give her as much enjoyment.